


Level Crossing

by FloodFeSTeR



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Abuse, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Denial of Feelings, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Feels, Family Secrets, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Revenge, Sexual Violence, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8636287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR
Summary: "She remembers just scavenging with her brother, just a small girl following her big brother's footsteps as they looked for copper or aluminum. . ."A story about one of the Railroads most efficient agents; and how the notorious sole survivor ruins her contentment every step of the way./ please read notes inside /





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okie dokie, this story will be updated every Wednesdays when I have the chance, and also this story will be moved when my co author and I open our joint account on here. On FF.net we're under Verysaggyladies lol (find me on Twitter @LikePicklez)

She remembers just scavenging with her brother, just a small girl following her big brother's footsteps as they looked for copper or aluminum, whatever sold for the most. She remembers being little when her brother had found a boutique with fancy little girls' clothes and he had let her try some on, take what she wanted, despite knowing she'd lose it in the weeks to come.

Now she knows how her brother felt waiting for her to pick the right outfit, only he had more patience and found it endearing.

"Hey, what about this? It just screams me right," Deacon held up a crimson colored dress, bedazzled with sequins to his broad torso.

She peered from beneath her bangs that had fallen loose from her bun, watching him hold it at the tip and sway his hips a bit for effect. His eyebrows bobbed above the rim of his sunglasses as he did so and she couldn't help but chuckle.

"Actually I think the blue one really makes your sunglasses pop, ya know," Rose plopped on the filthy countertop, tugging her caramel strands from their bun to brush against the small of her back. She had a small headache from having such heavy hair up for so long and when the thick strands began to fall, pain pricked at her scalp.

She winced and leaned over, grabbing an old baseball uniform to wipe the blood from her machete; before Deacon and she could begin shopping they first had to take out a squad of raiders who had been taken up in the old clothing store.

The place reeked of Jet fumes and the rot from the bloody boxes upstairs, bodies decorating the front door like morbid welcome mats. It had been quite the little nest, but they had grown swollen with smugness at having so many numbers that they got just a little too fucked up to fight properly and she and Deacon had an easy time with them.

"C'mon, I need your help finding a new jacket. Something farm-y, nothing that stands out too much," Deacon wrinkled his nose.

As he continued to look through heaps of discarded clothing, Rose slid her freshly polished melee weapon into its spot on her belt. She needed to get the caps for a sheath, the thing had already cut through two pairs of pants in the past three days alone. She sputtered when a musty green shirt hit her in the face and swatted it away, glaring at Deacon as she unwound her old hair tie from her wrist.

"We passed at least six dead farmers on our way here, I don't see why those weren't farm-y enough," She mocked as she began tossing clothes across the store that didn't match Deacon's description.

"Oh yes. I often vision myself walking around in a dead-man's jacket. I'm sure it doesn't come with a heaping load of bad juju," he makes his way to a different stack of thrown together fabric.

Before Rose had time to think of something snarky to reply with she heard the pin being pulled from a grenade and tossed down the stair. It bobbed to a stop against the wall and her heart spiked. "Grenade!" She warned, reaching for her machete. Adrenaline immediately began pumping through her veins and began running for her comrade before a vast explosion swept her off of her feet, throwing her into an adjacent bookshelf.

Despite her shoulder taking the majority of the blow, she hit her head hard enough to immediately lose consciousness. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped over, several books coming down on top of her and partially covering her.

"Shit!" Deacon exclaimed, watching as his teammate flew through the air. He rushed to her side, pushing aside the books to search for a pulse in her neck. Once he felt a faint throbbing in her neck he grabbed the nearest t-shirt to wrap around her bleeding head injury before turning to face a lanky man with patchy red hair and thrown together armor holding a gun inches from his face. He had a leer on his face as he swayed on his feet, high on something but Deacon knew he couldn't do shit; his gun was still over by his first box of clothes.

"Hands up asshole," the scum demanded, gesturing with a jerk of his gun towards the ceiling Deacon raised his hands just passed his shoulders, evaluating the extent of the situation and looking for a way out. There wasn't, without leaving Rose and he couldn't do that; he could, he really could, he had in the past. But this was the present.

"One wrong move and I'll put a bullet in her fucking skull," the raider threatened, aiming the gun at the unconscious girl next to him. "Get up now."

Deacon stood up with a nasty look spread across his face, glancing at Rose before returning his gaze back to the drugged out fucker with his gun. He was rotting away on his feet, that much was obvious, probably from radiation; he was turning into a ghoul, how gross.

"Get walking, now," the ginger haired menace held a gun to Deacon's back, forcing him to walk towards the stairs. "And don't worry, I'll be back for your little girlfriend."

"You better watch your ass," Deacon threatened through clenched teeth.

"What? I'm sorry, you might want to be more polite. My finger might just slip," the raider laughed morbidly before pushing the gun deeper into his back, making him speed up.

With each step the two men took the gun seemed to dig deeper and deeper into Deacon's back, bringing adrenaline into his blood and making him slightly wobbly on his feet. Seriously, he could just run, jump out the broken window to his right and be home free. He could make the drop, he had so many times, but no, no he didn't once even glance at the window again.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, the raider guided him into a small room, with a couple of floor mattresses, broken beer bottles, and a barely functioning ham radio; Travis stuttered on the other end, saying something about the Brotherhood being attacked.

"Knees. Now," the raider spoke roughly pressing the gun to the side of Deacon's head, slightly skewing his wig.

"Yes daddy," he flirted, not being able to pass up the chance to turn a bad situation into a dirty joke. Before he could smirk the raider's fist came flying down, colliding with his jaw, nearly cracking it open. He gasped and hit the floor, bracing his hands against beer scented wood. He shook his head softly, trying to get rid of some of the pain splintering and dying in the base of his skull. His vision swam for a moment, eyes blinking away the haze easily.

"Don't tempt me, boy," the raider huffed.

"Shit," Deacon mumbled under his breath, moving around his jaw to make sure it was still intact. "Worth it," he whispered quietly so his captor couldn't hear.

As the raider continued to glare and hold the rusty 10mm pistol to Deacon's head, he picked up the mic to the orange HAM radio on the desk. His eyes didn't leave Deacon, pupils so large they swallowed almost all of the color in his eyes.

"This is Clinton, anyone there," as static filled the air as Deacon began to chuckle, catching Clinton's eye.

"Something funny asshole?"

"Yeah actually, what the hell kind of name is Clinton? You totally just lost the fear factor dude," as another laugh escaped his lips Clinton's face turned red with rage.

"Last mistake-" The red headed raider was cut off when Deacon grabbed his ankle and pulled it out from under him, causing him to fall back and drop the gun.

Deacon scrambled to his feet, helping when he felt fat fingers grasping at his legs and then he was the one to hit the floor. His fingers brushed just shy of the gun and he dug his nails into the wood, kicking back with his free leg. He made contact with flesh enough to feel good and ten kicked against the floor, pushing enough to reach the gun at last.

"Not binding my hands? Rookie mistake," Deacon snapped before he twisted back and fired three times into the man's head.

"Huh," he murmured as the room fell silent, the body slumping with it. "That was anti-climactic," he spoke to himself with a bored tone before pulling himself off the ground.

Before Deacon could think of anything else he began running at full speed to get to his unconscious friend, finding her in the same position they had left her. He kicked off the rest of the books that covered her, cradling her head softly in his hand as he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans. "Rose," he brushed the stray brown hair out of her face as he coddled her head.

Despite the dangers of her head injury, Deacon couldn't help but notice how peaceful the young woman looked, her long lashes resting, the perfect pattern of her light freckles; unnoticeable unless you were really paying attention, the way her long curly hair fell perfectly around her heart shaped face. Why was he thinking now about how pretty she was? Like...Rose was perfect for the Railroad, that was all he could attribute it to. When she joined, he knew she was special, blowing kisses at a couple of traffickers hauling two synths across the Wasteland and getting them free of charge. Before she blew the traffickers fucking brains everywhere, of course she hadn't known what she was doing at the time but...

Deacon contemplated just letting her rest but decided against it. "You gotta wake up," he gave her face a gentle slap, earning a groan in response.

"Alright good, c'mon let's get you back to headquarters so Carrington can get you checked out." He sat her up right against a wall as he noticed her shoulder completely out of its socket, his face flushed white at the brutal sight.

She crinkled her nose in discomfort as Deacon shuffled back a little, it really wasn't pretty even with clothed covering it partially.

"What," she questioned, her voice still groggy from coming to as she looked down to see her out of place shoulder. "Well that's going to hurt like a bitch," she sighed. "Pop it back in will ya," she looked up at Deacon who was avoiding the injury.

"Nu huh."

"Why not," a slightly annoyed look covered her face.

"Looks gross."

"Deacon, c'mon."

"Nope," he took a step back still avoiding looking at her.

"Don't be such a pussy," she scolded.

"Calling me names won't make me want to do it anymore," he crossed his arms defensively. "Deacon," she glared at him beginning to stand up, holding onto the wall for support.

"Fine," he gave in walking over to his injured friend. "Do you want something to bite onto or...?"

"Just do it," she rushed. Without giving a countdown Deacon popped her shoulder back into it socket, the sound of bones cracking and the blood curdling scream was enough to make him cringe and almost lose his lunch.

He never did like this kind of stuff; another reason he never usually traveled with a partner. If he was alone, he stayed hidden, or just booked it to a safe place. There were never his own injuries to tend to, he always came back with everything intact.

"You didn't give me a warning asshole," Rose used her good arm to slap Deacon.

"It hurts less when you don't see it coming," he held his hands up defensively.

"I feel light headed," Rose's knees went weak and gave out from under her, Deacon caught her just in time before she hit the floor.

"Rose?"

"I'm okay," she said weakly.

"You lost a lot of blood, we need to get going," Deacon sat her gently on the floor as he began piling clothes into a rusty shopping cart before placing her on top.

"The most convenient way to get your dying friend through the Commonwealth: an old shopping cart." Deacon spoke to himself, almost sounding proud.

"Shut up and get me home," she scolded wearily.

"Sorry. Didn't know you were still conscious. I'll shut up now," he pushed the shopping cart out of the store and began making their way back to headquarters.


	2. Chapter 2

"I swear, if it's not you it's your damn brother on this table," Carrington gurgled under his breath in his thick accent as he threw a stitch in the gash on Rosie's head.

Rose winced as he did so, eyes flickering around the Railroad headquarters. People were so busy, rummaging through boxes and hissing instructions to synths as they shoved supplies into their hands before sending them off to parts unknown. Machines beeped and groaned around them, agents working nonstop, a Morse code reader in the far corner, Desdemona and Deacon in the middle of it all planning whatever it was they had to plan.

"Oh c'mon, we're not _that_ bad," she winced due to the medication that numbed the area beginning to wear off.

"Last month you were sitting here with a broken leg because Deacon 'dared' you to jump off the roof of an old gas station," the irritated doctor glared.

Rose smirked softly as he said that, remembering balancing on the edge of that roof. Caps to land in the tire? It didn't seem that far of a jump, to be honest, so she hadn't really hesitated; of course, her shoelace had gotten stuck in the tin, but she was pretty sure she would have stumbled to the ground in pain anyway.

"Hey, it was well worth the thirty caps," Rose laughed through the pain.

"This medicine could be for people who actually deserve it."

Carrington tied a knot in the thread before clipping it and dropping the rusted pair of scissors an aluminum trey, the clanking from metal on metal erupted through the entire hideout. Heads turned, but they appeared to be the fresh faced, everyone else moved without pause, busy in their own worlds of work and duty. Rose always liked the feel of the Underground, tucked away in a nasty little grave, somewhere so unsuspecting.

"Thanks doc," Rose patted the shoulder of the sullen doctor before hopping off the gurney and proceeded to scout out her brother.

She hadn't seen him in weeks, he was always so busy now doing stuff for the Railroad. Moving synths, aiding patrols, keeping checkpoints in tact, restocking safe houses. She was happy they didn't have to scavenge anymore, really, because it was always so dangerous being a scavver but she also missed her brother.

As the brunette pranced around the headquarters searching for her twin brother she caught a glimpse of a certain bald headed jokester rummaging through a trunk on his knees, of god knows how many disguises. He had a trunk in almost every safe house filled with whatever he could find to change into. She had even seen chests he had tucked away in random locations and when she would come back, they would be gone; he had to move them, just had to.

"Hey killer," she nudged him with her knee, slightly knocking him off balance.

"I'm heading over to Goodneighbor, want to come? It's sure to be a. . . _blast_ ," he cackled at his own pun as Rose rolled her eyes.

"That physically hurt me," she said vacantly.

"Oh come on, that joke was the _bomb_ ," he went into another laughing tangent.

"You are literally the only person who finds puns humorous."

The dark haired dame ran her fingers through her hair, gently touching the incision that Carrington had just sewed up. The trek back to base wasn't an easy one, with Rose down for the count, Deacon hiding her in cubby holes while he tried to find a way around big obstacles. She had felt terrible about it, but she hadn't had any control over the situation.

As Deacon's laughter began to calm he wiped a tear from under his trademarked sunglasses, "Oh man, but really, want to go to Goodneighbor with me," he offered.

"Yeah sure, I just need to find Giles first. You seen him?"

"Not recently, I'd check with Des though, he might not be back from his mission yet."

Deacon found the primped and primed black wig that he normally wore to Goodneighbor when he'd be disguised as a common drifter, and placed it flawlessly over his shiny bald head. It fit snugly after a few adjustments, his smile proud and his hands on his hips.

"Okay, I'll be ready to head out in a bit," she turned on her heels to hunt for the leader of their whole operation.

Seeing as Desdemona was always perched at the cement slab in the middle of the hideout; organizing missions and what not, it wasn't hard to spot her. She looked more haggard than usual, running a hand through her greasy hair; her jackets were tattered and her jeans had fresh tears. Rose cocked her head softly as she approached, wondering softly if she should ask what was wrong, but deciding against it.

"Hey Des, have you seen -"

Before Rose could finish her sentence the doors leading from the church opened and a more masculine version of herself walked in, dropping a load of medical supplies in front of the doc. Giles was a hard character to forget, his hair was a shade or two dimmer than his twin sisters and was always pushed back, with the exception of a few strands that would rebel, his eyes resembled honey; and he always wore the same leather jacket, jeans, and white V-neck. He occupied the typical bad ass personality; several people looked up to him, swearing he's the coolest guy throughout the Commonwealth.

He was a typical heavy, bigs arms and a mean look on his face as long as possible. Rose always felt safe with her brother, as did everyone else; he'd always tried to get jobs as a bouncer or a caravan guard when she was younger, something steady, but nothing ever worked.

"Here you are doc, I found an entire stash of stims at an old raiders camp," he straightened his leather jacket out before taking a few more steps towards the slab of concrete.

Carrington muttered his praises as he started to organize the stash Giles had brought in. He ordered his little gaggle of scavvers to disperse the loot to wherever it needed to go in the base, saying hey to the important faces, winking at Glory across the room.

"Hey sis," he pulled Rose into a headlock before commencing to give her a nuggie.

" _Giles_ ," she laughed before jabbing him in the ribs to make him release her.

"Oh gross, you're bleeding," he looked down at his hand to see a red liquid spread across his knuckles.

"Oh damn, Carrington just stitched me up," Rose paused to touch the open wound. "Hey doc!" She called out.

"Are you kidding me!" He raised his hands in disbelief.

* * *

  
Nearly half an hour passes before Rosie and Deacon arrive to the gates of Goodneighbor, and not a moment too soon. As Deacon holds open the gates to Goodneighbor they catch the end of a ruthless showing starring the good Mayor's hunting knife and the gut of some riff raff that normally caused trouble around the city full of misfits. She didn't remember his name, but knew he was always talking about insurance or whatever; just always harassing people whenever he could.

"What a shame, he probably forgot the safe word," Deacon winked as he nudged Rose with his elbow.

"Grow up D," she scolds, failing to hide the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

Once the ghoulish mayor finishes his flashy speech and retreats back into the run down statehouse, Deacon leans over to Rose. She could smell bubblegum and body odor, something distinctly Deacon in her mind.

"I've got some business to attend to at the Rexford, I'll find you in about an hour or so, sound good," he says in a low whisper, careful not to attracted unwanted attention.

Last time they had made any louder noise about dealings at the Rexford, Deacon had been jumped and, even in such a small town, they hadn't found who done it. So things were a lot sneakier, a lot darker, a lot more planned than thinking they were the hardest mothers to ever wall through the gates.

"Sure," Rose shrugs before parting way, heading towards Daisy's personal shop.

"Hey sweetie, you here to buy," the welcoming granny ghoul smiled at her reoccurring customer.

"Maybe," Rose replies with a honeyed smile and she runs her fingers over a couple junk items. "Anything new going on," she questioned before taking a sad, limp teddy bear into her hands, shaking it around before setting it back on the lonesome shelf.

"Nothing much, a new comer just showed up. A few minutes before you actually. Hard to miss him, wearing a fancy blue vault suit, looks like he's on some personal undertaking," the granny ghoul began wiping down the counter that the cash register occupied.

Rose cocked her head as she ran her fingers through an old wig, string of red hair coming off around her appendages. Vault suit? Didn't see those too much, unless you found a corpse, and they never really carried a presence anyway.

"Might be worth taking a look into. Thanks Daisy," As Rose walks towards Daisy she places a handful of caps on the counter in exchange for the small report.

Rose often got intel from the friendly ghoul in exchange for caps, or doing an odd job here and there. Although Daisy wasn't associated with the Railroad, she could get behind the cause and didn't mind giving up the gossip that she picked up from around town. And no one looked twice at a sweet old ghoul that prattled on about deals and old libraries. Daisy was sweet, Daisy had no real cunning behavior, but if it was for a good cause she could be manipulative.

As she exits Daisy's shop she makes a sharp right, the glass from a broken bottle crunched under the pressure of her boot and the lonesome lady begins making her way towards the statehouse to see an over welcoming mayor. She loved this place, mostly because of Hancock, because he just had this charisma that drew people in, even with his looks. Goodneighbor was a friendly enough place, still carrying that toughness from being persecuted and harassed by whoever for so long. She knew personally that quite a few of these people were runaway slaves, possibly even a synth or two.

As Rose pulled open the chipped wooden door the entire atmosphere changed, it's suddenly very tranquil, as if she walked into another dimension from the noisy streets of Goodneighbor. To her surprise the 'body guards' that normally swarmed the state house were nowhere to be found. It smelt like junk fumes and old rot, cologne from years gone by, after burn from Fahrenheit's beloved Ashmaker.

Rose rushes her fingers through her hair, brushing the mess of a mane to one side before hastily making her way up the winding stairs, each step creaking under her weight. She didn't care what she looked like typically, effortless scav-appearance to look appealing but she didn't want to be too pretty or else you get snatched up. But in this case, she wanted to be presentable for whatever reason.

"I was wondering when you'd pay me a visit," the pirate-y ghoul's raspy voice hailed once Rose hit the finishing step.

"You know me, just couldn't stay away," she replied, winded from walking up the stairs.

"Wow. You're really out of shape aren't ya," Hancock smirked, finding humor in the puffing coming from his doorway.

"Oh blow me," she snapped.

She looked up at the mayor, who was settled on the middle cushion of a rundown ruby couch, an arm extended on each side with his head tilted back and his hat covering the rim of his eyes, exposing a bald wrinkly patch of skin where hair use to be. If she didn't know any better she'd guess he was taking a quick nap, not a care in the world.

But she wasn't stupid.

"I might just take you up on that offer," he replied in a low growl refusing to move from his resting position.

"Where is everyone," she plopped down next to her ghoulish friend, tilting her head back in a similar position.

"Waiting in front of the balcony. I'm suppose'ta deliver a speech in a few, mayor duties call ya know," He responded, acutely turning his head to peak at Rose. "I got time for a quickie," he smirked.

"Mm, tempting, but I've got a killer headache; so rain check," she requested.

"Yeah sure, want something to take the edge off that headache," he offered, sitting up and readjusting his hat to search for a chem that would do the trick.

"I knew you were my guy," she grinned as Hancock dropped an inhaler into her lap.

"Deacon here with ya," he questioned before popping a couple of white colored tablets onto his tongue.

Mentats, she never had the taste, but he always did that before a speech. Kept his words from slurring, put everything into perspective, didn't drag him down.

"Yep."

She pulled the red inhaler up to her lips, inhaling the sharp, tangy sprits of air that begun filling her lungs, resulting in her slouched back into the couch, feeling as if time was slowing down around her. Hancock stood and stretched beside her, his movements slow and lagging in her eyes, growing more and more lagged as the drug kicked in.

Whoever had discovered this from Brahmin shit was already high as fuck to begin with.

If her brother ever found out she used anything but absinthe for her insomnia, he would have already killed her himself. He didn't like junkies, they always swindled him out of shit and even tried to kidnap her once when she was about nine or ten. She should hate them too, but something about that first hit of Jet - in the ruins, a boy with pearly white teeth and the biggest brown eyes she had ever seen - had just been a blush of many bruises to her.

She was hooked instantly, but not junkie status yet

Hancock turned his gaze towards her and a smile spread from ear to ear. She lolled her head towards him, grinning menacingly up at him but he never took stock into it. They'd been doing this for about a year now, and he knew her too well to take stock in most evil little things about her.

"You sure about that quickie? Everything's better with a puff of jet," he promised, moving to stand in front of her.

Rose scratched softly at the seem where a sewn-in patch of leather was on her inner thigh; Hancock didn't miss the twitch. When her grin grew, he smirked and shrugged off his coat a ways, the ruffles on his shirt free to flop about and make her giggle maniacally even after he had discarded it. When he snapped his fingers, Fahrenheit appeared like magic and shut the double doors leading into the room, a lock sliding into place; though, with her guarding, nothing would even make it to worry about the lock.

"Its never usually this easy to talk you into it," he murmured, placing both hands on either side of her head as she slouched on the couch. "What's changed?"

"I could have died today," she reached up and felt around the odd, charred skin of his neck. "So fuck me and lets get this over with."

"Romance at its finest," Hancock chuckled as he went down to her belt and slid it from the loops.

Rose's eyes fluttered up to the ceiling as he popped the button of her jeans, her knuckles curling up against the back of the couch around her head. She lifted her hips as he tugged on her jeans, crying out when his mouth wasted no time in finding her damp slit.

" _John_ ," she whimpered.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered against her skin. "I never grasped the concept of a quickie very well."

And he went back to work, making her curl her toes and jam her heels into the edge of the couch cushions to give him room he growled against her, sending pleasurable little tingles through her while she was lost in whimpers and moans.

Never a quickie, always had to go through the rounds with him. She could never trust herself to not give into these quickies though, and was one of the reasons she usually avoided coming with Deacon, trusting him with his lies.

" _Fuck_ ," Hancock drug out in his garbled tone, licking at the skin just below her navel, making her jump. "You make the best fucking noises."

He drug his teeth softly against her clit, and Rose whimpered again, resisting the urge to buck her hips up into his mouth. His tongue stabbed at her, two fingers lost deep and touching her where he knew would set her off, loosen her up for the big finale. She whimpered and keened, mouth ajar, the high sending her to places unknown in the middle of the build up. Her legs trembled around his head, another point to resist - just clamping down around him, making him lose himself inside of her.

"F- _Fuck_ , John," she tossed her head back, so close - and then he stopped; her expression snapped to disbelief. "What the -" she looked down between her thighs, saw lust in those dropped lids. "What do you think you're doing?"

He chuckled softly, but his expression didn't change much as he crawled up her; she looked insulted. "Don't worry baby," he avoided her lips, no kissing on the mouth. "We ain't over yet."

Rose heard his buckle rattle and a rush of anxiety trickled through her, but quickly dissipated. Not the first time, definitely not the first time, but it happened anyway. The second guessing, the moment he gave her to take it back, walk out the door, but she craved this little deal.

She felt him rub against her sex, her throat bobbing as she waited for him, her skin tickling beneath his grinding. He groaned low in his throat, teasing her entrance, making her squirm a little, before he plunged into her in one stroke. Her walls clenched around him, making him roll his head on his shoulders with the rush it sent through him.

"Damn, baby," he murmured and his teeth dug into the skin of her throat, hips rolling against hers.

Her fingers ran down his arms, up and over his back, pulling him against her, anchoring herself a little because the drugs made her muscles a little weightless. Always the same, so different from her own stress relieving sessions, and so fucking incredible.

Rose would never admit how much she needed this.

He wasn't her first, and she always felt he wouldn't be her last because of her habits, but something about Hancock was different. She knew he was fooling her, she knew he was probably lying and stringing her along for whatever reason she would probably never know. But this felt incredible, he felt incredible, and it would take Hell to tear her away from him, away from this.

"Fuck, fuck," Rose hisses, arching up against him, cramped and also acutely aware of how close they were to falling off the couch if they didn't pay attention. "Jesus fuck John," she whimpered, hips flexing up against his.

"Yeah baby girl," he pushed back the hair from her face, chuckling softly when she turned her face into his palm. "How does it feel, huh? Does it feel good? Huh?"

"It feels so fucking good," she whimpered, eyes shut tight, her walls squeezing around him. "Fuck John, you're amazing..."

"Sounds like it."

Rose's eyes shot open, squeezing herself up against Hancock as he pressed down against her; she could hear him growling as he did so, and she felt a tingle go down her spine.

There was a man standing in the doorway, a blue suit beneath a tangle of rusted and shiny metal, a heavy rifle on his back, two 10mm pistols on his hips, buck knife on his ankle. He had a gangly beard and his hair hung around his eyes; it was evident that he needed a serious shower, a haircut. And he looked so casual, standing there, Fahrenheit nowhere in sight and that was concerning; where the helm had he come from? How had he gotten in?

"You," Hancock murmured with only a...hint of annoyance in his tone.

The man smirked and waved his arms around him. "Yeah, its me," he paused and crosses his arms again. "Who is this pretty lady?"

"Get the fuck out," Hancock growled. "Let me get decent."

The man hummed and turned around, shutting the doors behind him. Hancock growled as he peeled himself away from Rose, watching her try to shake herself a little sober, looking dazed as she crossed her legs so daintily; she was sore and they were only a it for a few moments.

"Who the fuck is that," her speech slurred a little and she cleared her throat. "Shit..."

Hancock shook his head as he buckled his pants, letting her lean on him as she jumped into her pants. "Nobody."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter, my pretties:  
> @LikePicklez


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